PART TWO
Tzedakah - Charity
Hank thought:
Flyin' out three thousand miles to trade one pigsty for another. Dafuck's goin' on, already? The room smelled like a sewer, the sheets felt like sandpaper and if that wasn't bad enough, it was raining.
Rain. He coulda stayed back home for that shit. Only reason it was California instead of Florida was that the kid wanted to see Movie Stars. If it was up to him, he woulda chose Florida 'cause it was a lot closer and the fare was cheaper. Both had the ocean and both had Disneyland. Or Disneyworld. Whatever the hell they called it, was the same thing. Stupid rides and midgets who don't talk dressed up like Mickey Mouse or Clarabelle Cow.
But noooooo! Nick-O had to see stars on Hollywood Boulevard.
Fine. Make the kid happy and go to California, all the same to him.
He burped. Sprawled out on the bed, he had stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of jockeys. He'd sent Nick-O out to do the laundry two hours ago and now wondered if that was a mistake.
The kid seemed all hepped-up at first, but now he was all quiet and mopey. What Hank didn't need was
231
someone draggin' down his spirits. Enough talk. There was work to be done. The kid better snap out of it or there was gonna be some serious problems. There musta been at least three boys back home who worshiped him and he'd only hooked up with-Nick-O 'cause he was the biggest and the first one he saw standin' outside shul. Nick-O was all pissed off at havin' to wear a suit. When he offered to take him away, he thought the kid was gonna kiss his ass. First thing the kid did was throw away the suit and wear that dumbass T-shirt with the faggy-lookin' rock group on it.
Now Hank was wonderin' if Nick-O was the right one for the job. The kid seemed pretty together at first. Didn't get all squirrely when Hank played with his knives. Nick-O didn't flip over them though, and that showed a definite lack of taste. Thinking about it, that wasn't good.
No, not good at ail.
It was real smart to only give him enough money for laundry. Not that he was really worried that the kid was gonna flake out and call his parents, but there was always that possibility.
Nick-O had begged to come along, callin' them brothers in spirit. Tellin' him that his buddy Hank was the only one he could really talk to. Yeah, he understood it all 'cause he'd been there. But enough of the yap, yap, yap. It was time to get past all that religion crap and move on. Nick-O was real good about talkin' about movin' on, but he weren't so good at the real movin' on.
Hank didn't like the way the kid was acting. He'd warned him what he'd do if the kid tried anything dumb. He thought he made the message pretty damn clear.
Nick-O, you call home, go to the police or do anything stupid, you 're dead meat.
Hey, can't get any clearer than that.
Hank scratched his crotch and picked up a Styrofoam container half full of chow mein. He sniffed it, then found a plastic fork somewhere within the rolled-up bedcover.
He took the fork to the bathroom, washed it off with soap and water, then plopped down on the bed. The stuff wasn't bad cold, although all the sauce had congealed to a brown goop that looked like somethin' found in the crapper.
How the hell did he wind up in this dump? He shoulda knowed the area was for shit when he saw all the XXX on the hotel signs, but he was thrown off-track by the name.
Englewood, New Jersey, was a classy place. How the hell was he supposed to figure out that Inglewood, California, was a dump with the names soundin' practically the same?
Well, Inglewood was history as far as he was concerned! Tomorrow, they were splittin', rain or no rain.
Hank scratched himself again, turned on the TV.
Same old junk - this time the girl was gettin' porked by an old guy who had to be at least forty, and a shvartze. The shvartze was a gorilla, his boobs bigger than the chick's. He also had a gorilla-sized dick, but he couldn't keep it hard.
All those inches and he couldn't keep a boner.
He shut off the TV, bored, not even horny.
It was a long time since he'd had any action. He was sick of doin' it himself, but at least he was clean. He had sent Nick-O to buy skins yesterday - hoping to phone up a service girl tonight. But instead, Nick-O came back all whiny sayin' that he couldn't do it without lookin' suspicious.
Then Hank told him: you ain't gonna do my shit, what the hell did I need you for?
That made the kid stop and think a minute.
Then Nick-O said in that same whiny voice that the druggist wouldn't sell it to him even if he asked 'cause he just looked too young.
Hank smiled, remembering how like patient he was as he told him what to do.
Si/ice when did I say you have to buy it, Nick-O?
Maybe that's what was taking the kid so long.
He finished the Chink food and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the garbage.
Place was a sty, but in a weird way, he was at home in sties. After the divorce, the old lady fell apart. Everything just fell to shit.
Twenty-five moves in three years. He'd counted every goddamn one of them. The old dickhead always givin' them money to move into the places, but never enough money to pay monthly rent. Always kicked out 'cause no one wanted freeloaders. Three, four months later, she'd call up the dickhead again, tellin' him the same story over and over. She couldn't find a job without skills and she couldn't go to school because she couldn't drive and it was too hard to take the bus.
The dickhead would remind her that she used to teach in the yeshivas.
But that was before the headaches started. And it hurt her eyes to type on computers and strained her voice to do telephone sales. And the world was a scary place when you're alone and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Then the dickhead would forward another check - made out to him, not the old lady.
They were always made out to him, but like a jerk, he always gave them to the old lady 'cause at the time, he didn't know no better.
A week later, they'd stuff their belongings into trash bags and move again.
Then the dickhead had the nerve to ask him if he wanted to live with him and his broad. God, did the old man have rocks for brains or what?
Not that the old lady wasn't without her problems before the breakup, but it was the broad that drove her over the edge.
The old lady was nuts, but the dickhead was worse. Pretendin' he was so fuckin' holy, then runnin' out on both of them when pussy was flashed in his face.
The turning point. When Hank decided that pussy would never, ever have that kind of power over him. Better to buy the broads for an evening than to get involved with a chick. Besides, he was always more interested in lost kids - like himself. He'd teach them how to be a man, how to survive.
There had always been a good supply of lost kids. They came to him like bees to honey 'cause he was the one who gave them attention when their parents didn't have the time. Man he did a better job with kids than the dickhead ever did for him.
The old lady just couldn't handle the breakup. She'd curl up in the corner, forgetting to bathe, forgetting to eat, for crissakes! Him, having to spoon-feed her, undress her, and dunk her in the tub. Man, she screamed every time she took a bath. It got so bad that he just gave up.
But then he had to deal with the smell.
And the old dickhead, saying he wasn't without sympathy.
Wasn't without sympathy.
Didn't you just love that little diddy?
Hersh, I'm not without sympathy, but there's nothing lean do for her anymore. I've got my own life to live and Mama isn 't a part of it.
That's when the dickhead made his offer. Live with him.
Oh, yeah, right!
The broad hated him almost as much as he hated the broad.
Well, they got theirs.
Ha-ha, the joke was on you, asshole.
The old lady. God-only-knew what the hey she was doing. He couldn't be bothered thinkin' about her. He had his own life to
live.
Hey, you know how it is.
Like father like son.
Noam wiped the tears away from his eyes and hoisted the plastic lawn and leaf bag full of laundry over his shoulder. Of all the stupid things he'd ever done, this was the stupidest. Everything they ever told him turned out to be true. He was nothing but a loser.
How was he gonna get out of this mess? He thought of running away, hitchhiking back. But he was afraid of the weirdos that might pick him up, what they might do to him. Hersh was scary but he never touched him in that way. Boruch Hashem for small blessings.
He prayed: Please, please get me out of this mess. Get me back home safely. I'll do everything my parents ask, I'll never fight with my brothers and sisters, I'll study real hard, I'll do anything You want, just please, please get me out of this mess.
Vey is mir, he was stupid!
At first, it seemed like such a right thing to do. Hersh
... like he knew everything that was on his mind. He understood all of his doubts, all of his questions. He could talkto Hersh. Hersh listenedto him. It was like Hersh had been there before and that made sense. Hersh had told him he came from the same type of family - all of them a bunch of hypocrites.
Not that his family was all bad, just...they just didn't understand, didn't listenl All they ever did was criticize, criticize, criticize. He'd given up on his parents a long time ago. But he expected more out of aunts and uncles. Aunt Miriam was nice but all she ever did was feed him. Aunt Faygie was a scatterbrain. Uncle Shimmy was never around, Uncle Jonathan had brushed him off like dirt.
Bubbe was OK but she was old. Zeyde? He was old, too.
But Hersh. He listened1. v
Noam knew it was too good to be true. Hersh had played him for the stupid kid he was. And now he was acting real weird, showing him those stupid knives all the time. When Noam mentioned that maybe he might go back home, Hersh had a fit, scared the wits out of him. Screaming, swearing - well Hersh always swore - but this time the words were directed at him.
And then he threatened to... it was too scary to think about it.
The thing about Hersh was, you never knew what to expect. One minute he'd be pretty cool, even nice. But then he'd turn on you like an untrained dog.
Noam knew he'd taken too long and he was frightened. The knives were starting to get to him. It was those knives. Hersh loved those knives. Even when nothing needed to be cut, he was playing with them - sharpening them, spinning them.
And then there were the fish. Hersh just loved to gut
fish. Noam should have known something was wrong with him a long time ago. First time they went to his flat in Flatbush, Hersh gutted a fish. That was weird. But still, Hersh listened to him when he talked. That seemed so important. ,
He felt his heart beat in his chest as he walked up to the door. His head felt dizzy, his stomach about to chuck up the tref food he'd been eating. At first, it seemed so neat. You could eat anything you wanted and no one was here to make you feel guilty. Now it all seemed so silly, so stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He put down the bag of laundry and inserted the key into the door lock. A sour taste rose from his throat. He opened the door.
Hersh looked up, then turned his eyes back to the TV. Noam thought - watching those kind of movies again. He came inside and closed the door. Waited for instructions. He had to go to the toilet but was too nervous to leave the room until Hersh talked to him.
Hersh just kept watching TV. Then he pointed to a spot on the floor and told Noam to leave the laundry there. Noam swallowed, got up enough nerve to ask if he could go to the bathroom.
Hersh said, 'Why you askin' me? You got a plumbin' problem or somethin'?'
'No,' Noam whispered. He rushed off to the bathroom and threw up. Tried to be as quiet about it as possible. But Hersh was staring at him when he came back in.
'You sick or somethin'?'
'I guess the food didn't go down real good,' Noam said.
'Yeah, it's pretty shitty,' Hersh said. 'We'll buy better stuff next time, 'kay?'
Noam nodded. That was the real killer - you never knew how he was going to take things. Now he was acting all nice. He thought maybe now was a good time to bring up going home, but something warned him off.
Don't push it.
Noam said, 'I can fold the laundry if you want. I'm real good at that. My... my mother—'
'I don't want to hear about your fuckin' mother, Nick-O. She's a bitch, right? Ain't that what you told me?'
That wasn't what he'd told him. Noam had told him that his eema was mean and critical and never had a minute to listen to him. But he had never, never called her a bitch. He could never do that. But he nodded anyway.
How could he have been so stupid!
Noam dumped out the clothes and started folding them.
'Hersh?'
'Hank,' he said, eyes still on the TV. 'How many tuckin' times do I have to tell you it's Hank?'
Yeah, it was Hank this time, Noam thought. Hersh had gone through at least a half-dozen names in the past six months. There was Tony and Frankie. Then it was Heinrich and Hart. Hart, Hersh said, was the name of a movie star. When Noam told him the name sounded sort of like afaygala, Hersh flew into a rage. From then on it was Hank. Remember! Hank! Hank! Hank!
'Hank?'Noam tried.
'What?'
'I got 'em,' Noam announced.
Hersh pointed the remote at the TV screen and flicked it off. Noam saw him turn slowly, regard his face. Then he flashed that crooked smile of his. Sometimes the smile meant he was happy, sometimes it meant he was mad. But it was always a weird smile, scary. Hersh was nodding now.
•Yougot'em?'
'Igot 'em,' Noam said.
'Hey, hey, hey.' Hersh leaped off the bed and ham-merlocked Noam's neck. He punched him gently in the cranium.' Ya got somethin' in there. I told you you could doit.'
Noam smiled but inside he felt like dying. What if the pharmacist had seen him? What if he was reporting him to the police right now? What if they threw him in jail and let him rot?
What if? What if? What if?
The whole thing started out like an exciting adventure story. It had turned into a nightmare.
Hersh said, 'Where are they, Nick-O?'
Nick-O? That's right. He wasn't Nolan anymore. He was Nick-O. Noam liked Nolan better - like Nolan Ryan. But Hersh insisted on calling him Nick-O 'cause that sounded more tough.
'In my pocket,' Noam answered.
Hersh reached in and pulled out the condoms. 'Did you get the extra large?'
Noam turned red. 'I... I didn't know they were sized—'
Hersh let go with a wicked peal of laughter. 'You are so fuckm'stupid. You really don'tknow shit. But youstill did good, Nick-O. You did good.'
Noam studied Hersh's smile. He was genuinely happy. Boruch Hashem.
'You did good,' Hersh repeated. 'Real good. Like a pro!'
Noam shrugged, embarrassed by the compliment. No one at home ever, ever complimented him. Criticizing him all the time. Still, all he could think about now was how to get home. How he could manage to call them. But if Hersh found out... His throat tightened, he began to feel weak inside as if the first bout of vomiting hadn't emptied his stomach.
He felt a sharp rap on his head. Hersh had him in another hammerlock.
'You still up in there?' Hersh said, knocking on Noam's brain.
Noam struggled until he was free from Hersh's grip. 'I had to wait a long time before the cashier left the checks tand.'
'That's what took you so longV
Noam nodded.
'You wouldn't be thinkin' about callin' anyone, would you, Nick-O?'
Noam's eyes widened. 'Oh, no way, Hank. No way. Who would I call?'
'Liar,' Hersh said. But his voice was light. He grabbed Nick-O by the neck again. 'You did good.'
'I didn't call anyone,' Noam said. 'I swear I didn't.'
'I believe you,' Hersh said. 'Now shut up abo
ut it.'
Noam clamped his lips together.
Hersh said, 'You only took two packs. Why'd you only take two packs?'
'I just took what I saw—'
'You know, Nick-O, you do somethin', you do it all the way.' Hersh slapped his cheek gently. 'What you did is like robbin' a bank for five bucks, know what I'm
sayin'? But what the hey. You got time to learn capichT
Faye Kellerman - Decker 04 - Day of Atonement Page 20